Lost By Paul A. Broyles, III

Disclaimer: The characters and situations in this story are based upon the Star Wars universe and are the exclusive property of George Lucas. No money is being made from this story, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Author's Notes: If you review this story, please don't give away the Jedi's identity!!! Ever since I first considered what might have happened before the Star Wars trilogy, I have had this mental picture in my head of the Jedi standing on a sand dune, watching a house burn. I now have enough information to make it sound plausible.

Special thanks to George Lucas for creating Star Wars and to James Kahn who provided much needed information in his "Return of the Jedi" novelization.




So, here he was. It had all come down to this. And he couldn't do it. He just couldn't. Even considering it all, everything she'd done to him, it shouldn't be like this. Couldn't be like this.

There were tears in his eyes,running down his face. He tasted salt, the salty tears he had known he would never taste again. He had cried on the night he had been cut off from everyone he had ever known, cried buried under the blankets in that black chateau cut deep into the side of the mountain. He cried for everything he had ever had, and for everything he never would have. He could never change the choice, but he always regretted it. Throwing everything away on a whim, over a nightmare -- it was foolish beyond imagining. It was insane. But he had done it; he had given himself over to his worst fears and hates, and he could never return.

The dark man in the hooded cloak had told him that, told him that once he had said yes, it would be for always and ever. He thought of the dark man, thought of the sneer that would cross his face if he saw him here, weighing the decision like this.

And still he waited.

The air was misty and tense. The thick fog was a rarity, a blessed deviation from the sweltering days and nights in the desert. He brushed the tears from his eyes with the back of a palm and squinted down at the house below his dune.

It was a modest, humble abode, as far from ostentatious as was imaginable for the one-time ruler of a planet. It was constructed of stone and a very little metal, a small square box in the middle of the desert. The dark suddenly pressed down upon him, stooping his back under its incredible cold weight, and he realized that the twin suns were all the way below the horizon.

He pulled from beneath his cloak a black-and-silver shining cylinder and weighed it in his hands. It felt right and natural, as though it belonged. He pressed a rectangular button, and a column of red light sprang into existence. Though it appeared hot, it seemed to radiate coldness.

As he began to walk down the sand dune toward the small house, thunder rumbled in the sky and lightning flashed once. Rain began to stream down from the sky, soaking his black robes and matting his blond hair. The energy beam made an odd crackling noise as the raindrops pinged off it. He reached the door of the simple stone abode and found it unlocked. It was as if she were daring death to find her, laughing at fate.

She always had, of course. From the moment he had first met her, she had faced death numerous times and survived. And she would still be impervious to the force of destruction, if not for this: the man she loved corrupted by the evil dark man, come on a mission to end her life.

He pulled the door gently, silently open and blinked to adjust his eyes to the darker environment, dim and shadowy even with the glowing beam of energy. He observed that he was in a tiny kitchen of Spartan furnishings, with a small portion open to the sky to serve as a solar oven. There were a few shelves which contained food capsules and a tiny bit of fruit, but her larder was quite bare.

He observed that the kitchen was open to the bedroom, where she lay, sleeping. Even bathed from the red glow that his lightsabre provided, she was beautiful. The energy beam produced a faint humming noise and she stirred as he neared her bed, but did not awake. He had not expected her to; she had always slept soundly.

He went to stand over her, and poised his sword over her. But he could not let it fall, could not see her form despoiled by its hideous cutting power. He turned it off and placed it on her nightstand. He started to see what else was on her nightstand: another lightsabre. He looked at it, remembering it oh-so-well. It was the first sabre he had constructed, when he was an apprentice. He picked it up, running his hand along its smooth, cool surface. He silently attatched both sabres to his belt.The moon had risen, and it cast a faint light through the window beside her bed. He looked down at her lovely face, her sleeping form he remembered so well. He carressed her cheek and kissed her, once, twice, three times. Her eyes flickered open and she smiled; it was clear she thought it was a dream. He kissed her once more, a long, lingering, passionate kiss, and, as her eyes closed, left her bed.

He could not, would not end her life like this with his lightsabre. He left her bedroom and retired to the kitchen. He produced from his belt a vial of something from his belt and poured a little on the floor, and then turned and left her house, closing the door.

He stood high atop the dune and stared at the house as flames began to show through the open-air windows, little more than holes in the wall. Soon, flame poured throughout the house, providing a dim, flickering light for him to see by. Tears coursed down his cheeks, and he clenched his fists, setting his jaw.

Anakin Skywalker looked at the new lightsabre on his belt, the sword he had taken from Amidala's nightstand and lifted it, igniting its icy blue blade. Deactivating it, he clenched it in his hand and strode away from the burning ruin of her house, toward his spaceship. He had a date with destiny. He had a score to settle with his old master, Obi-Wan Kenobi.